Deprived
by MorbidbyDefault
Summary: Molly Hooper is plagued by nightmares of her past. Who steps in to take care of her when the sleep deprivation becomes too much? Mild Sherlolly.
1. Chapter 1

So, this is only mild Sherlolly, more just a Molly fic, but angst/comfort type story anyway. enjoy!

oh, i don't own anything…no infringement intended.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

''Molly. Come here, my little pet. Don't make me chase after you now. You know what happens when I have to chase after you.'' The eerie, old voice of her caretaker chimed behind her, getting closer as she ran. Her long, brown ponytail bounced behind her as she darted in and out of the dark trees, desperate to get away. All the while, his twisted, gnarly voice approached, calling her name. She could just see a clearing in the trees. Freedom. As she reached the final stretch, her hair was yanked with a hard jerk, sending her flying backward and thudding hard onto the ground. The man now loomed over her, a sick, twisted smile creeping up his face.

''Gotcha."

OoOo

Molly shot up into a sitting position in her bed. A raspy, sleep filled scream escaped her lungs, and she immediately began to sob. Through her tears, she gazed at the clock on her nightstand. 'Thirty minutes.' She thought. Half an hour of sleep, entirely filled with the horrific dream she couldn't seem to shake.

She rose, deciding that if she couldn't go to sleep, or stay asleep, she would go to work. She showered, washing away the grubby, dirty feeling the dreams always left with her, and dressed for the day, making sure she applied the right shade of blush. She then left her quiet flat, in route to St. Bart's hospital.

She couldn't recall the last time she had actually slept without being violently awoken by the recurring nightmares. The lack of rest had caused Molly to lose other faculties as well. She rarely ate, and when she did, it wasn't much more than a bag of crisps and some coffee. Her gaunt features looked constantly tired without the assistance of makeup, and the dark rings under her eyes were truly frightening to behold. She had turned even more fair skinned, a lack of nutrients attributing to her now ghostly white skin. Yet, when she worked in the morgue, or in the lab, she would put on that same, sweet smile, hoping nobody noticed. Hoping he wouldn't notice.

OoOo

''Ah, Molly. Good morning. Might I trouble you for some coffee? Black, two sugars. Thanks.'' Sherlock's voice cut through her thoughts, and Molly flinched a little at suddenly having company. She smiled and nodded, before turning toward the door. Upon reaching it, she felt herself grow lightheaded, and grasped onto the door frame. The action did not go unnoticed by the detective across the room, and his eyes followed after her as she straightened herself up, walking out of the room.

A few moments after, she returned, three cups of coffee in a carrier. She placed one cup next to Sherlock's hand, the second in front of the stool beside him, and she took the third. Sherlock had already deduced the second cup was for John, upon his arrival, and he hummed his gratitude for the thought, before returning to his work. Molly smiled weakly, and took a large gulp of her liquid energy. Sherlock decided against confronting the meek pathologist on her obvious lack of sleep, and they worked side by side in silence.

OoOo

She was standing at her father's grave, freshly buried after his slow and painful death. Young Molly was clutching onto her plush bear's arm, tearing up into the tissue in her other hand. She felt a rough, calloused hand on her shoulder, and looked up to see her father's friend. She had always seen him as a distant uncle, who, if she were honest, gave her the creeps. However, he was all she had now, and she willingly left the cemetery with the one person she thought she could trust. How very wrong she was.

OoOo

Molly's eyes blurred open, and she took a deep breath as she regained a sense of her surroundings. She looked at the clock, which read '3:47' in large, neon green numbers.

''Wonderful. Well, nothing says 'morning' like getting up early and having some toast.'' She said aloud to nobody. Molly pushed herself out of bed, and proceeded to ready herself for the day. She went to her kitchen, and popped two pieces of bread into her toaster. While she brewed herself some tea, she seemed to just stare off into space, as if in another world. The thing tat brought her back was the metallic chinking sound of the toaster, sitting across from her on the counter. She looked it over, seeing that it was too dark. 'Oh well. Toast didn't sound that good, anyway.' She thought. So, with her travel mug in hand, Molly stepped to the streets, hoping to get an early start on the day in the lab.

OoOo

Sherlock had waltzed into the lab early that day, a resounding 6:00 am. He had expected to find an empty space, ready for hi. To use and abuse until a certain tiny pathologist interrupted him with her cheery disposition. Instead, what he found upon entering the room, was a dim light on from the corner of the white lab. Under the light, he saw Molly. She was slouched over in her chair, her hair cascading down her shoulder as it swept to the side. Her head was nestled in her crossed arms that rested on her desk, and he could tell by her breathing that she was asleep, but barely so. Sherlock carefully went to his station in the back corner, not wanting to disturb her. However, he only got about half way there, when he heard her mumbling in her sleep.

''No...no please. I...I'm sorry. No...no...'' His brow creased with confusion as he approached her. Her own brow was knit together in obvious distress, a fear sign that whatever she was dreaming about was obviously not good. He no sooner reached the corner of the lab, directly next to her desk, when she jolted awake. Sherlock stood still as she regained her composure, and she looked up at him.

''Oh, hi Sherlock. I...I didn't hear you come in. Sorry...did you need coffee?" Molly stood up, a smile quickly crossing her face. Sherlock shook his head, looking at her with an unnamed look.

''Molly...you were dreaming.'' He said after a moment. She looked at him with a quirked expression, before grinning a bit.

''Yes, I suppose that's what happens when you doze off for a bit.'' She smiled. His face fell a bit more. 'She's avoiding this, attempting to make jokes to hide that something is off.' Sherlock gazed over her briefly, and decided she had just missed out on a good night's sleep. She smiled, and walked across the room toward the door.

''I'll just go get you a cup, in case you change your mind.'' Molly said in her usually chipper tone. Sherlock simply followed her with his eyes as she stepped through the doors. He then returned to his work, pushing the thoughts of his most valuable pathologist to the back of his mind.

OoOo

She was trapped underneath him, his weight nearly crushing her as he pressed down. She sobbed and pleaded with him not to do this. The man above her didn't listen, and instead advanced further, covering her mouth with a large, grime covered hand. She screamed out for help, which went unheard.

OoOo

She was startled out of her daze by a feather light touch on her shoulder. She jolted sharply, dropping the cups of coffee she had in her hands. When she looked up, she saw the very concerned face of John Watson. Immediately she bent down to fuss over the spilled cups. John, being a doctor, could see the sign almost right away. He had pieced together the physical facts faster than the consulting detective in this instance. He looked over her as she shakily mopped up the spill with a paper towel from a nearby restroom. 'She's terribly thin, hasn't eaten in a few days. Her eyes are blood shot and sunken in, hasn't let in...God know how long. She didn't even pay attention to the fact that I was talking to her, so out of it.' John stooped over to help, and when he bumped her hand, Molly jumped violently. Her wide brown eyes looked frantically up at him, before calming down a bit.

''Molly? Are you okay?" John asked, looking very concerned for the small woman. Instantly, she pulled a nervous smile on, and nodded her head.

''Yes, sorry John. I was just bringing these back for you and Sherlock. I...I'll go get some more.'' She turned to leave, a meek smile tucked into place. John held his hand out, stopping her.

''No no, it's fine. I got it. Do you want any? You take cream, right?" He tilted his head, smiling back at her. She merely nodded, and John could see her shoulders relax just a bit. He nodded, before turning and heading toward the cafeteria. Once he rounded the corner out of sight, the doctor peeked his head around to watch her. She was now frowning, her brow knit together in deep worry. She shook her head, before turning to walk back toward the lab. John pulled out his phone.

'I need you to keep an eye on her until I can figure out what to do. Be back soon.'  
-JW-

He turned and walked down the hallway.

OoOo

Sherlock watched her as she came back into the cool lab. John's text had caught him by surprise, and there was a sense of urgent concern in the phrasing from his friend. He knew who John meant right away, and so for once, Sherlock Holmes did as he was told. He watched.

Molly seemed to be in a haze, which was so unlike her. She simply meandered about the lab, not really focusing on any one job for long. She could feel him staring at her, and it bugged her.

''What do you want, Sherlock?" She heard herself snap out the question, unable to stop before her frayed emotions showed. Sherlock looked genuinely shocked at the harsh tone. Molly immediately clasped a hand over her mouth, her face blushing furiously.

''I...I'm so, so sor...sorry.'' she stumbled over her words, her doe eyes widened with shock at herself. No sooner did she say it, when John walked through the door. He smiled at her, and handed her the small cup of warm took a sip of it, and sighed with a small amount of delight. Sherlock had seen how intent John was upon watch her drink it, and he quickly caught on. He pulled out his phone, and sent a quick text across the room.

'Mild sedative, I presume?'  
-S-

John flipped out his mobile, and read it quickly. He shot a sober glance to his flatmate, and simply nodded his head. Sherlock gave a nod of approval at the idea, and went back to working, while still watching her.

Soon, Molly felt herself growing overwhelmingly tired. More tired than she normally was. The pathologist swiftly realized what had happened, and turned to John, her eyes set deep with panic.

''Please, no. Don't let me fall asleep. Please. I don't want to go to sleep.'' Tears began streaming down her face, and she gripped the edge of the nearest work station upon feeling lightheaded. John was by her side in an instant, looking over her with concern.

''Molly, you're sick. You need rest. I only- why don't you want to sleep?" He asked, searching her terrified face for a clue. She clutched a desperate hand onto his arm, looking up into his eyes as hers fluttered shut.

''Please, no. Don't...don't let me...Sher...Sherlock? He...help me...plea...'' Her scrambling eyes sought out the detective, who was now on his feet, a mere few feet away. His eyes washed over her features, his own filled with confusion. Molly's grip loosened on John's arm, and she soon swayed to one side. The doctor caught her, and gently cradled her light frame in his arms.

''Sherlock, go hail a cab. We're taking her back to Baker Street.'' John ordered, as he tried shifting her weight to an easier position. Quicker than he knew, John saw the tall detective pull her up into his arms, his own wrapped under her protectively and securely.

''John, go hail a cab. I've got Molly. You're hardly tall enough to carry her, as she is about the same height as you. Now go, she needs to be in a comfortable setting.'' Sherlock's voice was clipped as ever, but John could tell by experience that there was something else. He looked over Molly's face, her brow still furrowed in distress.

''Why wouldn't she want to sleep, if she so clearly needs it?" John asked to the genius man holding her. Sherlock's eyes gazed over her as well, as if trying to pry into her mind's deepest secrets.

''I don't know.''

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Well, that's a super long chapter, and this was the best stopping point in my books, so yea. Next chapter will be up soon. In the meantime, what do you think?


	2. Chapter 2

So, just want to say thank you very much for te wonderful and lovely reviews, as well as other support. you are all just fantastic. I'm dedicating this chapter to miss daisherz365...since i told her i would, because she's feeling a bit down and sickyish...so i hope this helps with that tear inducing challenge.

**oh, and i own nothing...that is all.**

Deprived- Chapter Two:

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The first two hours are blank. Nothing but simple, dreamless sleep. John set up a small tray of supplies by Sherlock's bedside, fully prepared to handle any side effects that she may have suffered. Sherlock insisted on using his bed, considering he never slept. Molly hadn't moved for two hours. The third hour was filled with the beginning of the series of nightmares.

OoOo

''It'll be alright, little Molly. You let Uncle Bill take care of everything.'' The soothing voice of her new guardian washed over her as she sat up from the floor. She didn't remember what happened to cause her to fall, but she could feel the lump on the back of her head. She looked up to see her 'uncle' looming over her, a bottle of something brown in his other hand.

OoOo

Molly stirred a bit, feeling the warmth of sheets surrounding her. She rolled over, and jumped a bit as she saw Sherlock leaning up against the headboard. She looked about the room, realizing it wasn't hers. As she tried to sit up, her body felt heavy, and she fell back on the bed. Sherlock turned to see her eyes.

''You were mumbling in your sleep. I thought I'd check on you.'' He said, his voice regular with its clipped tone. Molly looked away, slightly embarrassed that she was in his bed, and apparently talked in her sleep.

''Wh...John. He drugged my coffee. Why would he...why would he do that?" Molly's nervous and tired voice came out. The detective looked her over, seeing the signs of her still lack of rest all over her. He stood from his spot, before walking to the door.

''John!" Sherlock hollered down the hall. Soon, they were joined by the sandy blond man, who gave Sherlock a rather confused look upon his entry. Sherlock turned around, to see Molly was once again asleep.

''She was just awake. Just for a bit. She asked why you would drug her coffee. A question that I have as well. I thought that would possibly go against your moral code.'' Sherlock raised a brow expectantly, as he waited for the answer.

''It's also against my moral code to see a friend slowly killing herself for some unknown reason.'' John said, not looking away from the small woman. He walked past his tall counterpart, and began to check on her. He placed a hand on her forehead, and then immediately pulled a thermometer from the tray. When he had taken her temperature, his findings confirmed his earlier suspicions, fever. John busied himself with preparing a small dose of medicine to fight off the climbing fever, while Sherlock stood by, watching his friend work. He flinched slightly, as John injected the needle into Molly's arm, suddenly feeling some sort of awful...ping...deep in his stomach. John stood, and turned to look at him.

''She'll be alright. She just needs a long rest.'' John said as he patted Sherlock on the shoulder. He didn't expect Sherlock to leave any time soon, so he merely walked out, not saying a word of the detective's odd behavior. Sherlock's eyes washed over Molly's face. He could see her eyes moving rapidly under her lids, and he wondered what sort of thing she was dreaming about that would make her want to so desperately stay awake.

OoOo

''Uncle Bill, please no! I'm sorry, I won't do it again!" Young Molly was in the corner of the small kitchen of her new home. A spill of juice in front of her, as she held a rag in one hand, her other held up to block the approaching man. He raised his arm high, a fist for a hand at the end. Little Molly was in tears as she closed her eyes, the assault wracking her body.

OoOo

''Molly!" She heard the deep baritone voice cutting through her dream, waking her up with a jolt. She looked up, fully expecting the large fist to be swinging down again. Instead, what she found was the crystal blue eyes of a very intense looking consulting detective. She could feel his hands on her shoulders, obviously a strong grip, trying to shake her into alertness. Molly couldn't help it, the lack of sleep, mixed with the terrible nightmare, caused her to break down. She rolled to her side, and sobbed into his pillow. Sherlock yelled for John again, this time making sure she stayed awake for them. John arrived in his room, to find Sherlock straddling the tiny pathologist with his long legs. One and was still holding her shoulder, the other stroking her hair in a soothing motion. He looked up, meeting John's gaze, before immediately pushing himself up and off the bed. He strode out of the room, while John tended to her. A few moments later, John walked to the hall, in his route to fetch Molly something to eat.

''Well, she is completely terrified, and a bit pissed off at me, apparently. So...what happened in there?'' John looked up at his friend, hands running through his blond hair. Sherlock looked back to the door, his face still sober with concern.

''She...she started to talk in her sleep again. She mentioned a name this time, a 'Bill'. 'Uncle Bill, please no.' Then, it was as if she were blocking some sort of brutal attack on herself. She just kept...moving. I was simply preventing her from injuring herself. I had to pin her down, John. She just kept...she wouldn't stop.'' Sherlock looked like a small boy who was lost in a department store. If John were being honest, he would say his usually stoic friend looked worried, scared.

''John, I think we've just found our latest case.'' Sherlock said after a moment. John had seen that look in his eyes before, the same look Sherlock always had when he was in his element.

OoOo

Sherlock had sent John to Scotland Yard to speak with Lestrade. He had instructed Mrs. Hudson to keep an ever watchful eye on the recovering woman in his bed, and to call if anything happened. Meanwhile, he went to Molly's flat, looking for any sort of clue as to what haunted her dreams.

When he arrived, he slid the key easily into her lock, and pushed open the door. At first glance, there seemed to be nothing out of place, nothing that would stir up any odd sense of emotional turmoil. Everything seemed like it had a place, the stacks of unread and read mail sitting side by side. Her fruit bowl, with a week's supply of variety for her to choose from. Sherlock even noticed how her dainty throw pillows seemed to congregate in a uniform fashion on her sofa. 'What could possibly keep her up in this flat?'

OoOo

''Why am I cross checking some random bloke's name with Molly Hooper's?" Greg sat across from John in his office, pulling up records on the computer atop his desk. John sighed, looking like he were contemplating the great mysteries of life.

''Sherlock said she kept muttering that name in her sleep. Sleep, which she would not be getting otherwise if I hadn't intervened and sedated her. Greg, something feels off about this. Can you just...just check for me? For Molly? Please?" John's voice was sincere as ever, clearly worried over the well being of his sweet friend. Lestrade nodded in determination, before typing away again.

OoOo

Mrs. Hudson was busying herself in her boys' kitchen, when she heard a small, weeping sort of sound, coming from the hallway. She stopped washing the glass beakers in the sink, and wrung her hands dry on the small tea towel sitting on the counter. As she quietly approached the bedroom, she heard a horrific scream, followed by a crashing noise, and finally the shrill sound of scattering glass.

''Oh, dear.'' Mrs. Hudson raced down and flung open the door of Sherlock's room to find Molly curled up on the floor. Her plate from dinner sat in a thousand pieces around her, a few sticking in the now bleeding spots on her arms and legs. The sweet older woman winced as she saw the cuts, and immediately stepped over the broken glass to look at Molly's injuries. She was shaken up pretty badly, not saying a word. Instead, her lower lip quivered violently as she looked about the room frantically.

''Oh, oh Deary...let me get you into the other room. I'll go call Sherlock. Come on, now.'' She smiled, and Molly nodded her head lightly. She stood up, gingerly stepping around the shards of ceramic plate. Soon, the very groggy pathologist was sitting on the sofa, while Mrs. Hudson phoned the consulting detective.

OoOo

''Yes, I'm on my way. Is she still awake?" Sherlock asked, grabbing the small bag of clean clothes he had picked for her, and he plucked up the stack of mail by her door. As he hailed a cab, he listened to his and lady describe the incident, and the injuries. As he hung up, he immediately received a call from John.

''Sherlock...''

''John, you know I prefer to text.'' Sherlock spoke in an annoyed tone. Soon, before he could continue, John cut him off again.

''Sherlock! It's...it's bad. It's, oh Jesus, it's terrible.'' His voice was sad, so terribly sad. Sherlock's face fell into a deep from, before he asked for more information.

''Only one match popped up when we cross-checked any 'Bill' and Molly. A William, aka 'Bill' Kuffler, was made sole guardian of Molly at age seven. No reports again, until she was 13. Molly was put into the care of a children's home, after Bill was arrested. Sherlock, he abused her. Verbally, physically, and...and...'' John couldn't bring himself to say the third. Sherlock immediately felt his blood boiling, not sure if it was pure rage for the heinous acts, or the fact that they had been committed against someone so innocent. John hadn't heard him say anything, and continued.

''That's not all. Apparently, Kuffler, after being in prison for the past twenty years, got out on good behavior.'' John said, an understanding tone in his voice. Sherlock sighed out in realization. 'The nightmares, the mumbling in her sleep, the terrified looks.' It all made sense now. Sherlock was filtering through Molly's mail, when his eyes scrolled over one envelope in particular. The return address simply said:

Uncle Bill

It made even more sense then. The thing that had been haunting her. The monster in her nightmares. He had the nerve, the cruel audacity to attempt contacting her after the hell on earth he had put her through. Sherlock was seething, fully ready to kill this mystery man.

He felt the cab pull to a stop in front of 221. He suddenly had the overwhelming urge to walk through fire to protect her from this terrible part of her past. He walked through the door, and chose to leave her stack of mail on the main floor, dropping it on the last step, before he bounded up them. As soon as he opened the doors, he was greeted with the sight of Mrs. Hudson wrapping a final bandage around Molly's arm, securing it with tape. Molly looked up, meeting his tense stare.

''Oh God. You know.'' Molly's lip began to shake again, and before he could compute his actions, he was striding over her. His long arms pulled her up and into his chest, effectively holding her in a fiercely crushing hug. Molly felt all the energy surging beneath his skin. He felt like lava, raging and flowing with a deep heated need to take action. Molly felt safe, there in his arms, and she finally broke. Her tears fell, her cries of anguish and tired fear muffled by his chest. Sherlock simply held her there, not wanting to release her from his grasp and strong sanctuary.

He would find this man. He would make him pay. He would give her peace.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Well, that's that part. I had a really rough day, and so I wanted some comfort..as detached as it was. Hope you liked this chapter. Third and final chapter should be up soon. ...um...tell me what you think?


	3. Chapter 3

Ah, the final chapter. Just wanted to say thank yo to everyone who has been reading and reviewing and favoriting and following. I know I normally do shout outs, but it's been a busy week. So just know I love you all, and thank you so much for the support!

Also, I should note, I don't own anything. Lame, I know.

Deprived- Chapter Three:

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Sherlock had managed to convince Molly she should have a warm bath, along with a cup of tea. Molly seemed apprehensive of the tea at first, until she learned that it was made by Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock sat in the other room, while his pathologist and the elder lady occupied his bedroom. He understood the unconscious need for a maternal figure to be present as the young lady attempted to sleep. Currently, he sat across from John, who was sighing warily.

''The pictures are, well, they're awful Sherlock. You may not want to look.'' John said as he handed him the file. Molly's name was on the slightly tattered corner, and the detective carefully opened it. Immediately, he could see what John meant. The Polaroids were far too intact, considering their age. Sherlock picked up the small pile, flicking through them in rapid succession. One after the other, the photos shows the extensive damage this man had done to the girl in the picture. Her mousy brown hair was attend in a spot by dried blood. The bruises on her swollen face made her almost unrecognizable. The dried tears on her vacant face made her seem as though she weren't in that body at all. Finally, the report underneath the photos. It painted a much worse picture than any photo could capture. Sherlock felt himself seething with rage, ready to destroy the monster who did this. John could see the building up emotions behind his friend's eyes, and it had nearly frightened him. Sherlock closed the folder, and tossed it back to John. He stood, and immediately flipped out his phone. John knew it was serious, as he heard the sober words leave Sherlock's lips.

''Mycroft, I need your help with something.''

OoOo

Molly tossed and turned, trying to get into a comfortable position. She was currently willing herself to stay awake, despite the many requests by Mrs. Hudson, John, and Sherlock, for her to get some rest. Molly knew she was being silly, knew that she was ultimately bringing herself harm, but she couldn't put herself through that nightmare. Not again. She nuzzled herself further into Sherlock's pillow, breathing in his scent. It was calming, soothing to her nerves. She soon found herself battling to keep her eyes open, and with a few more breaths and inhaling his aroma, Molly fell asleep.

OoOo

He was watching the telly, when the door busted in. Immediately, he stood, coming face to face with at least five heavily armed men. He raised his arms high in the air, eyes widening with terror. Soon, a fine-suited an walked through the door, his inquisitive brow hiking up as he gazed at the humble dwelling. He soon laid eyes on the an being held at gunpoint, and made a sneer of disgust.

''Bill Kuffler. You're presence is required, immediately.'' He said. Bill made a move of protest, and was immediately handcuffed.

''You can't do this! I served my time, you don't have any power to do this!" Bill shouted at the man. He slowly walked toward him, and lowered his tall height down, so he was face to face.

''Oh, but I do.'' He said. Sooner than Bill could protest, he was being carted outside and thrown into the back of an armored vehicle. In front of him walked the man with the nice suit, swirling an umbrella around his hand as he walked.

OoOo

Molly woke with a screech. It had been the last day. The day she finally escaped. One of the worst. Soon, John was rushing through the door. He looked around the room, clearly the secondary nature of his military past kicking in. He then looked to Molly, who had tears threatening to spill out from her eyes. She bit her lip, and looked up at him. He sighed, before walking over to sit next to her on the large bed. Molly sighed, and dropped her head back onto the pillow.

''I'm sorry, John. I must seem like such a child to you.'' Molly spoke quietly from her position. John looked down at her, his face quirked in a look of half shock, half amusement. Before she knew what was happening, she was keelhauled into the surprisingly strong doctor's arms. He hugged her tightly to him, breathing out softly.

''Molly, I am so, so sorry. That never should happen to anyone. Especially such a sweet girl like you.'' His words were muffled by her shoulder, and suddenly Molly caught on.

''John, it's not your fault. I was a kid. I didn't even know you.'' She smiled a bit after a moment, and John's face pulled away. She could tell he was fighting off the tears, and it made her almost happy to know that someone cared.

''Wh..where's Sherlock?" She felt compelled to ask. John's face grew sober again, but she couldn't help but notice the slight grin that wanted to take over.

''He's uh...he's gone to sort things out.'' John said, his head nodding in a curt fashion. Molly thought on his words, and her eyes grew wide at the understanding. 'Make that someones.' She thought.

OoOo

Bill was thrown into a dimly lit room, and he searched for the switch along the wall. Suddenly, a booming and low voice started to speak very familiar words.

''My Dearest Molly,  
I have not forgotten you, even during these long years away. I now you were just a scared, young girl, and that you didn't mean to do what you did. I forgive you...Well, how thoughtful of you.'' The voice was dripping with disdain, and soon, the lights flashed bright before Bill's eyes. He was slammed into a chair, and as he looked up, he came face to face with the pale, cold face of Sherlock Holmes.

''Wh..who are you?" He asked nervously, watching the letter twirl around in his hands.

''I am someone who considers this young lady crucial to my work. I do not appreciate people tampering with the emotions of those who I value, as there are very, very few of them.'' His voice was deep, the beginning growl akin to a hungry jungle cat, right before it leaps into action and attacks its choice prey. Bill looked around for the nearest exit. There seemed to be none. He looked back to Sherlock, and said nothing.

''So, here you sit. A free man. Meanwhile, across London, there lies a woman, who is still being haunted by the memories of what you did to her as a child. You know, I may not agree with the sentiment of believing in any sort of higher being, but I can say I still agree with some of the moral teachings that those people hold. For instance...'' Sherlock slid his chair back, before walking around the room, his sleeves being pushed up, to reveal lean arm muscles. He pushed Bill's chair back as well, but forced him to remain seated by a quick shove on the man's shoulder.

''Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.'' He said, before slamming his fist into the side of Bill's face. The older man spit on the floor as he regained breath, and looked up with a groan of pain, just in time to receive a blow to the other side.

''Turn the other cheek.'' Sherlock hissed out as he hit Bill again and again. He glanced to the clock on the wall. 'Three minutes left.' He thought. It was what he had negotiated, and e was going to take full advantage of it. Next came the crop from his coat pocket. He flicked it out, and smiled devilishly at the now terrified looking Bill.

''You know, Mr. Kuffler, you look like a logical man. I wonder if you'd mind assisting me in an experiment? The hypothesis I have is that you are smart enough to realize you should have stayed away from Molly Hooper. Let's see if I'm correct.'' Sherlock gave a smirk, before he began beating upon the groaning and crying man repeatedly. The clock ticked away, and he had one minute left. Sherlock stopped upon hearing the sobbing, bloodied mess of a man cry out for mercy.

''Fine. I will stop. But don't think that this will be anything worse than what they can and will do to you in prison.'' Sherlock stood up, retrieved his coat, and left, just as the hidden door was opening. Soon, Bill was being hauled from the room, and to a much more permanent residency.

OoOo

Molly decided to wait for Sherlock to return. She didn't want to go back to sleep without knowing he was safe. She heard the muffled talking of the two men outside the door, and soon Sherlock was quietly peeking his head through the bedroom door. Molly smiled weakly at him, and he entered the room completely.

''You should be resting.'' He said, making his way across the room to her side. Molly shrugged, giving him a look he knew all too well to mean, 'I can't'. He sat aside her on his large mattress, and sighed heavily. Molly looked to him, waiting for him to mention the visit.

''You won't be bothered by him anymore. I've been ensured he won't be able to contact you ever again.'' Sherlock's voice said. Molly's head tilted to the side, and a smile grew over her soft features. Before Sherlock, or Molly herself, realized what was happening, she had managed to hop up into a crouching position. Her arms threw themselves around his neck, and she pressed her lips to his high cheekbone. Molly rested there a moment, simply muttering 'thank you' into his ear over and over again. Sherlock grinned, and nodded his head. He again told her she needed rest, which she still seemed afraid to do.

''Would you...would you mind staying with me? Just...just for tonight? Please?" Her small, meek voice called out as he was near the doorway. Sherlock turned to her, before sighing and nodding in agreement once more. He discarded his shoes and suit coat by his closet, and was soon on the other side of her all frame. He slid effortlessly under the blankets, and he reached up to turn the bedside lamp off. Soon, he felt her body snuggle into his side, and Sherlock couldn't help but wrap his arms around her, completing the embrace.

''Goodnight, Sherlock. Thank you. Thank you so, so much.'' Molly's voice whispered quietly, and he listened to her yawn. After a few moments, he could make out the steady pattern of her breathing, the loosened grip on his torso, and the idle curling of her delicate fingers Sherlock leaned over, kissing the top of her head before he whispered to her.

''Good night, Molly Hooper. Sweet dreams.''

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Well, there's that! Happy ending to a sad story. Hope you enjoyed it. Leave me a note and tell me what you thought, okay?


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